Random Phantom Phunnies
by Vanessa Osbourne
Summary: Hey hey! It's a book of random phantom phunnies! What senseless craziness will occur? What odd insanities will  commence? FIND OUT!
1. Erik's Slingshot

** Wow! It has been forever since I've been on! But I'm off hiatus. Well, at least, for now…**

** I must warn you all: THIS IS A COMEDY! And not just any comedy, but an insane, sane, sanely insane, insanely sanely insane , sanely insanely sanely insane, random comedy. But, you probably already know that if you're reading a fiction by me. Really, any funny (I should say Phunny) situation I come up with using Phantom characters, it'll most likely end up here. So, be alerted, totally random crap can happen.**

** Oh, and this is set after the events of the 2004 movie. Basically the Opera Populaire didn't perish, the two idiot managers are still running the place (somehow getting the money to get another chandelier), and, of course, the Phantom still lives in the cellars. Christine, Meg, Madame Giry and (very unfortunately) Carlotta, still work at the Opera Populaire. And the rest, you will find out!**

**Disclaimer: Ah! It's so good to be back! Well, we don't own the Phantom of the Opera. **

**Me: Aww man! **

**Erik: Well, look on the bright side. At least the disclaimer isn't written in verse…**

**Me: O_O Oh snap. No you've done it! DON'T DO IT DISCLAIMER!**

**Disclaimer: TO LATE! We sadly do not own thee, so never shall we truly squee. While asleep we rest, we dream of a quest, in which we shall find you, and all things that are true. When we awake with grief, the thought that is most chief, the thought that we shall never own the Phantom of the Opera. **

**Me: Okay okay, on to the story!**

**Erik's Slingshot**

Quiet. Complete silence. Normally, this would be heaven for him. Normally…

"CURSE THIS UTTER SILENCE!" screamed the powerful voice of Erik. He threw some unlucky sheets of parchment in the air and watched grudgingly as they floated to the ground, completely unharmed.

_ Why? Why today? Why must no one bother me the day AFTER I finish my latest composition? Why does everyone bother me WHILE I work, then, when I'm done, no one seems to care that I still exist? _

He remembered what everyone was doing today. Meg was going to attempt to climb Mt. Everest, Christine was out shopping, and Raoul was worshipping his big mansion.

_Gah! Why am I even CONSIDERING doing something with that fop? _he thought. He felt too out of the ordinary today. _Out of the ordinary…_ his thoughts trailed off to the bizarre note Madame Giry left him. He couldn't tell if he was just so bored or if it was the countless amount of times he read the note, but he memorized the whole thing.

_My Dearest Erik,_

_I have mastered the art of time travel. I have been practicing it for weeks, and, today, I have been able to send a baby chick back to the era of Mozart, and a ballet slipper to the year 2012. I am now going to use my new power to establish world peace, end poverty, and catch a Willie Nelson concert. So, I bid you farewell, my humble friend. Remember me as the first person AND WOMAN to have traveled through time._

_Sincerely,_

_Antoinette Giry_

Erik shook his head._ The old woman's lost it. Time travel? Baby chick? World peace? WILLIE NELSON? I knew one day she'd crack, but this is just, just not her._

Erik sighed. He bent over and began to pick up the papers he had disturbed. Suddenly, he spotted a Y-shaped stick. He remembered that day, when some of the little brats of the ballet corps decided to sneak into the catacombs and throw rocks, sticks, and any other hard projectile they could find at him.

_Dirty little imps! _he thought, grabbing the stick. He studied it for a second. Erik then saw a rock, also thrown at him by one of the ballerinas. He picked it up, and put it on the V-shaped portion of the stick. He then turned to the vast, dark lake, and flicked the rock off the stick. It flew quite far, soaring out of sight before making a _sploosh _sound.

Erik grinned with amusement. He grabbed another rock, repeating the act. This rock flew further than the other one, making an even fainter _splish_. He found an even bigger rock, but, this time, when Erik tried flicking it, all it did was fall to the ground.

Erik frowned. How would he get this rock to fly just like the other two without flicking it? Erik was about to just throw the rock across the lake, but something caught his eye.

It was the sleeve of an old dress from the costume room. Madame Giry had given it to him when he had first started living in the cellars. She thought it would make a good blanket. The truth was, that dress was sitting in the exact spot he first put it-behind his organ, where no one would see it.

He thought it looked quite ugly. It was pink but had brown stains almost everywhere. Erik sighed and yanked it from behind the organ and examined it. He noticed that the buttons on it would probably fly through the air with ease, but another thing stole his attention. It was the collar of the dress. It had some kind of string sticking out of it.

Desperate for something to do, Erik tugged on the string. It stayed in the dress. He tugged it again. Same results. Finally, Erik pulled with all his might (which, actually, is probably a little to much might just for a measly string…). The string quickly came out of the collar, and so did a button on the dress.

Erik examined his "prize". The string was not very long, but it also wasn't really short. Just right if you wanted to use it for something. He grabbed both ends of the string and pulled them. It stretched as he pulled it. He kept stretching it until he finally got bored.

Erik then spotted the button that came off the dress, and grabbed the Y-shaped stick. He put the button on the stick, and was about to flick it, but, suddenly, he got an idea. He tied the elastic string to the stick, tying each side to one top branch of the stick (and, of course, he probably tied it quite tightly, since he's tied Punjab lassos for umpteen years…).

He put the button on the ground, pulled back the freely hanging part of the string, and made it fly across the lake. _Splish. _Erik grinned, and moved back to where he left the larger rock. He tried to do the same thing he did with the button, but the rock still wouldn't move. This made him angry.

He then studied the stick. _What else would I need to add? _he thought. He then looked back at the dress. He saw that one of the panniers was also sticking off of the dress. So, Erik went to the dress and yanked the pannier off, and folded it into a square. Then, using the threads hanging off the back of the square cloth, Erik tied the piece to the part of the string that was hanging down.

In other words, Erik created a slingshot.

Grabbing another button off the dress, he placed it on the square cloth, pulled back the string, and shot it across the lake, hearing a very faint _splish _after a few moments.

He rushed back to the rock, grabbed it, put it on the cloth, and finally shot it across the lake. _Splosh._

Erik grinned an evil grin. He grabbed the last button off the dress, about 4 other rocks thrown by the ballerinas, some balled up parchment from composing, and a trusty Punjab (always good to keep one handy…), put them in a black pouch, jumped into his gondola, and rowed off, thinking of and planning the havoc he was about to wreak.

Meanwhile, the opera company was doing a final dress rehearsal of _The Magic Flute_ before it was to be performed that night. They were rehearsing the scene where Tamino and Papageno are told by the Queen of the Night to go save Pamina, her daughter.

Now, this situation wouldn't have been anything too annoying, except for the fact that The Queen of the Night was being played by none other than Carlotta Giudicelli. Carlotta, of course, sang sourly, put emphasis on the wrong notes, sang without any depth or true tone, ect. ect.

If this wasn't enough to just make you want to scream, the two managers of the Opera Populaire came in. Well, I shouldn't say 'came in' as if it meant casually walking into a place without causing any mayhem. I should say Andre came running in, screaming "I BAKED MEATBALLS!" like a maniac while holding a wooden bucket full of meatballs. Firmin was chasing his partner in crime, trying to settle him down.

Carlotta, the eternal dictator of being a melodramatic whiner, was furious that her aria had been interrupted.

"Why dida you have to-a come in hear screaming about meatballs you, you, YOU STUPIDA LITTLE STUPID!" Carlotta screamed at her short, excited manager.

Though that was obviously one of the worst insults ever uttered, it was enough to make the little man cry.

"You're mean!" Andre replied before waddling off, crying. He tripped and…cried even more.

Now, you don't know how this made Firmin feel (_partially_ because I didn't tell you…). Firmin had been with Andre the whole day, trying ever so hard to put up with his shenanigans. First, it was wanting to see and read a story to each "magical pretty pony" at the local stable. Next, it was going to the "big food land" to get ingredients for the meatballs. Then, it was having to sing the "super happy lunchtime song" before eating a lunch, made by Andre himself, of buttons, water-soaked bread, and cheese, simply called "Tasty". Lastly, it was watching Andre "bake" the meatballs, which basically meant making them out of cheap meat, probably a whole ton of black pepper, buttons, soggy bread, cheese, and a rotten tomato Andre called his "Tippy". So, naturally, this event made him practically crack.

He walked straight up to Carlotta and glared at her.

"Apologize, now," he said in a dangerous tone. Carlotta simply turned her head away from him.

Firmin walked out of sight and came back with Carlotta's dog.

He turned to her once more. "Apologize, now, or else the dog gets it," he warned in the exact same tone. He then proceeded to hold the dog by its throat.

Carlotta looked desperately at her "doggy". She groaned, then walked offstage towards Andre. She tapped on his shoulder, and he turned around.

"Ima sorry for-a snapping Monsieur Andre," she said quite grudgingly.

Firmin, hearing this, let the dog run away (in the end, it ran all the way to Switzerland… before dropping dead), and quietly walked off the stage.

Andre, also hearing Carlotta's apology, smiled like a dofus and hugged her.

"It's OK really loud lady!" He exclaimed joyously, handing her a meatball. "I forgive you! Come on Ricky! Let's go put these meatballs on plates for the people who are gonna watch the really loud show!" And with that, the little man ran off happily towards the stage.

Before leaving, Firmin took the meatball given to Carlotta.

"You're lucky I didn't let you eat this Madame," he said cooly. And, with that, we stalked after his companion.

By now, Erik had made it to the catwalks of the opera. Most of his ammo was gone, used to knock out some ballerinas who saw him. He watched as Andre pushed through the people backstage, sitting down beside a large, prop temple.

"I'm going outside to ponder why I've wasted my life with shenanigans instead of listening to my mother and becoming a lawyer," Firmin said to Andre.

"Okay Ricky!" Andre replied, apparently not being able to comprehend the burden he was to his taller companion.

Erik watched as Firmin left. Andre was almost totally alone. He snuck down to where Andre was, hiding behind the temple. He saw some note cards that Andre had written. They said:

_Complamenturee Meetbauls_

_Curtasee uv:_

_Gillz Aundray_

Erik crumbled up the card and threw it behind him. He then spotted the bucket of meatballs, sitting there so, so, um, innocently, and quickly grabbed some, putting them into his pouch.

Erik then raced back to the catwalks, grabbing his slingshot and moving so he the stage was visible.

It was just at this moment that Carlotta began to screech, erm, I mean, sing.

"So it seems our toad still steals the limelight," Erik said to himself. He took out a meatball, put it on the slingshot, and aimed for Carlotta's hat. He was about to fire the meatball, but, suddenly, he heard a familiar voice.

"Is that you there Erik?" It asked teasingly, making Erik jump and almost drop the meatball.

Erik turned around, and saw…the ghost of Joseph Buquet? Erm, I mean yes, he saw the ghost of Joseph Buquet. Erik groaned and tried to aim again, but was, unfortunately, interrupted once more.

"Long time, noosee Erik," Buquet went on. "Get it? Noosee? Like a noose? Get it?"

"Unfortunately yes Buquet, I do," Erik replied, annoyed. "On the whole, that "joke", as you would call it, was corny and unappealing. Why are you bothering me?"

"Oh come on mate! I've been haunting these catwalks ever since you done gone and strangled me!" Buquet answered somewhat angrily. " This is my home now. Because of you! Now, what are you doing up here, eh?"

Erik growled and aimed once more. By now, the dying hippo-I mean, Carlotta was once again, "singing" her aria again. Erik stretched back the meatball-loaded slingshot, and fired, sending the meatball straight for Carlotta.

Carlotta was just about to hit a really high note (OH THE HORROR!), when suddenly, she was hit in the head with the meatball. The diva suddenly stopped singing (That's all I wanted for Christmas…). She tried to find out what hit her in the head, when, instantly, another meatball hit her on the cheek.

"WHO IS-A DOING THIS? HUH?" The loudmouthed whiner demanded angrily. No response. Carlotta sighed, cleared her throat, and began to sing again (WHY CRUEL WORLD? WHYYY).

"Persistent are we?" Erik asked under his breath, reaching for another meatball.

"Alright mate, just remember this: Treat the meatball as if your life depended on it. You are the meatball. " Buquet primed, acting like a coach.

"I would appreciate it, Joseph, if you acted like an idiot later," Erik growled, trying to aim precisely.

"What? I was trying to help! Besides, part of your face looks like a meatball!" Buquet replied.

That did it. Erik was enraged. He thrust his hands around Buquet's neck and tried to strangle him, but, since Buquet was now a ghost, his hands only went through Buquet's neck.

"Ha! That's one advantage to being an ACTUAL ghost you poser!" Buquet taunted, sticking his tongue out.

Erik shook his head and groaned. He watched as Carlotta was about to hit the high note from which she was "so rudely interrupted" and prepared his slingshot. As she opened her mouth, Erik fired.

Now, imagine this scene in slow motion. It's neat right? Carlotta's mouth is slowly opening wider, like some black hole or something, while the meatball whizzes through the air, doing flips and stuff and dripping grease and, and meat juice or something. And then, we go to Erik, who's laugh is totally screwed up and deep because we're watching this in slo mo.

Alright, no more slow motion, I'm getting nauseous. Anyway, Carlotta had her mouth wide open when, all of a sudden, something with a ghastly taste fell right inside (which, actually, wouldn't seem like a hard task. She already has such a big mouth…).

Carlotta began to choke, and, after awhile, she fell onto the ground, unconscious.

Normally, people would just ignore her and let life go on (some would probably try to celebrate or make this a national holiday.). But, since the people at the Opera Populaire were so easy to scare, they all began to run around and scream.

Erik merely smirked at the chaos he'd just caused.

"Well, I guess this is my queue. See you later meat face!" Buquet said before floating down and beginning to sing _Blue Bells of Scotland_. Naturally, this scared the people even more.

As Erik watched all the lonely people run around like ants that you just want to crush at a picnic, he got an idea. He aimed for and fired at…THE CHANDELIER! (Didn't see that one coming did you? Oh, you did. Right…)

The Chandelier fell, just like it does in EVERY FREAKIN' ADAPTATION OF PHANTOM OF THE OPERA! Luckily, since Madame Giry secretly rigged the chandelier so that it would use electricity every Tuesday, there was no fire that could make people scream and run like idiots and apparently blow out windows.

As all this mayhem was happening, it just so happened that Christine, Raoul, and Meg entered the opera house, evidently done with what they were doing that day.

"What's happening Christine?" Meg frantically asked.

Christine suddenly caught a glimpse of Erik, who was sneaking away from the scene.

"I think I know who did this," Christine stated before running off with Meg and Raoul trailing behind.

"Where are we going?" Raoul asked, but no one answered (I wonder why…).

They reached Christine's dressing room in no time. Christine burst through the door and headed for the mirror, while the other two followed. Christine and Meg pried open the secret mirror passageway, and the three headed for Erik's lair.

The three were lucky and found the gondola just where Erik had left it when he was trekking to cause the mayhem he did just 4 hours ago. (something like that. What? You expect _me _to be keeping track of the time? IN MY OWN PHIC?) It didn't take the gang too long to reach Erik's place.

When they did reach his, uh, "living space", they found the phantom in hysterics, laughing on the floor, and his slingshot on his organ stool.

"Gotcha!" Meg cried, snatching the slingshot. She turned around and, suddenly, Erik appeared in front of her, looking quite irritated.

"Give it back Margaret," he said sternly.

Meg, not knowing what to do, threw it to Raoul, accidentally hitting him in the head. Raoul dramatically staggered back and fell into the lake. Christine and Meg ran to go help him, while Erik merely cracked up.

As they were helping Raoul, Meg saw the slingshot and dove for it. Erik, seeing Meg, dove for it as well. Both hands were just about to touch the weapon, until:

_VWHEEM_

The figure of Madame Giry appeared from an aquamarine vortex, which disappeared a few seconds after. Everyone just froze, shocked. They all stared at the ballet instructor, who was clad in a Willie Nelson fan T-shirt, surfing shorts, a _John Deere _baseball cap, and cowboy boots.

Madame Giry simply walked towards the group and took the slingshot.

"You have caused enough trouble for one day Erik. I will dispose of this properly," she stated simply.

Erik merely growled, getting up. Meg got up as well, helping Christine and Raoul out of the lake.

"What are you going to do with that mother?" Meg inquired curiously.

"I shall send it to its proper place. To a delinquent's bedroom in the late 20th century," the ballet instructor replied. She snapped her fingers and, instantly, the aquamarine vortex reappeared.

"September 15th, 1999," Madame Giry said before chucking the slingshot into the vortex. It sucked the weapon up, and disappeared with a faint _ding_. You know, the one you hear when you're at a fancy hotel and you hit that bell thing at the manager's desk. Or, when you're waiting for an elevator, and the thingy at the top suddenly _dings _when it's at your floor.

"I guess that's that," Raoul said after wringing out his hair.

"Oh shut up you stupid fop!" Erik growled before pushing him back into the lake.

"You barely appeared in this story, and yet you're trying to be the one who says the last line," Madame Giry went on. "That's shallow."

"What are you talking about mother?" Meg asked with concern.

"Come, my daughter, now is not the time for questions. Now is the time for us to go into the 1920's and listen to some smooth jazz," Madame Giry replied, snapping her fingers once again, making the vortex reappear.

So, in the end, everyone went with Madame Giry to the 20's, enjoyed some jazz, and even got to see Babe Ruth at a baseball game before returning home to the 1800's. But who cares about that. I WAS THE LAST ONE TO SPEAK IN THE STORY! WOOT! THE END PEOPLE! WHOOO!

** Well, that may not have been as phunny as I planned. I'll try to make some stories that are phunnier than this. But, this is a start. And it introduces Madame Giry's power to travel through time AND the ghost of Joseph Buquet. **

**Erik: AND Andre's idiocy. **

**Me: Yes, and the little man's insanity. So, R&R if you feel like it. Flames totally welcome, and will be used to destroy any of Andre's meatballs that still might exist. PEACE!**


	2. Meg Annoys Erik

**YES! I HAVE FINALLY OVERCOME ALL OBSTACLES THAT FANFICTION HAS PROVIDED FOR UPLOADING DOCUMENTS! HORRAY! Oh, and hello my dearest readers! XD It is time for another phunny! Enjoy my dears! **

**Disclaimer: WE DON'T OWN POTO! That stands for Phantom of The Opera. =D**

**Erik: Like we all couldn't tell...**

**Disclaimer: YOU SUCK MEATFACE!**

**Erik: Why I oughta *grabs punjab lasso.***

**Discliamer: EEEK! *runs away.***

**Erik: COME BACK HERE! *runs after Disclaimer.***

**Me: O_O While I go chase those two, you enjoy the story. *runs after Disclaimer and Erik.***

**Meg Annoys Erik**

It was a rainy day in Paris, just one week after the whole slingshot business. I still have memories of that. Good times, good times.

Anyway, Erik was composing a new opera. Something about some girl being haunted by the ghost of a dead love or something. Why can't he do an opera about a sea urchin going out to dinner with the Monkees? That would be schweet...

So, Erik was working on this composition madly. He wanted to get it done soon so he could force the two stupid managers into doing the opera, even though they were already pretty desperate trying to find an opera to do. I guess Erik just likes rubbing it in their faces that he's more powerful and awesome and gothic and creative and mysterious and loved by many phans that exist elsewhere...

He was just finishing the 6th aria (dang, how many arias do you NEED man?), when he heard the paddling of a boat..._his _boat.

_What the George Benson? Who's there?_ Erik thought irritably, miffed that he was interrupted from his work.

He got up and walked towards the lake. And wouldn't you know it, his boat _was _coming. And the last person, well, maybe not _the _last person, but you get what I mean, was rowing it.

"Hiya Erik!" said a cheery, youthful voice.

"What in this madhouse are you doing here Margaret!" Erik asked, fuming.

"Well, my dressing room's being treated for rabid, flesh-eating butterflies, and-."

"_Rabid,_ _flesh-eating butterflies?_Do you dare compare my intellect with those two pea-brained monkeys that are called managers? How idiotic do you think I _am_ Margaret?" Erik interrupted in a fit of rage.

"I have one right here! Mother told me not to go within 50 feet of them, but they just looked so pretty! Here! Take a look!" Meg said excitedly, randomly producing a jar with a butterfly in it.

Now, you'd think she'd be holding up some monarch butterfly she caught standing too close to the rails at the top floor of the Eiffel Tower, even though her mother _strictly _told her to stay far, far away from famous monuments, because she senses that they will one day be used as doomsday devices. But, that wasn't the case. _This _butterfly had talons (large ones, if you asked), razor sharp teeth, tusks, and on its fluorescent green wings were pictures of purple rutabagas. And, as all mutated, man-eating predators, it looked pretty ticked off.

Erik was startled by its appearance. Meg on the other hand, was smiling quite widely.

"I named him Petey!" She exclaimed joyfully. "Here, I'll let you see him fly!" And, without really thinking about the outcome of letting a man-eating insect with rabies out of its enclosure and into the lair of the Phantom of the Opera.

The insect flew after Erik, trying hard to take a chomp of his tasty Phantom phlesh.

"GET THIS THING OUT OF HERE!" Erik demanded, trying to shoo Petey away.

"But he likes you! See, he's trying to kiss you!" She replied as the rabid butterfly started gnawing on his hand.

"GET IT OFF _NOW _MARGARET!" Erik yelled loudldy.

Meg went to Erik and pried Petey off of his hand.

"Alright Petey, it's time for a nap!" Meg told her "pet" before putting it back in the jar, sticking a black felt cloth over the jar, and sticking the cloth-covered jar into a dark blue backpack crammed with clothes. Oh man, poor butterfly. I mean, even if it is _flesh-eating_, it still deserves proper care! (to learn more, visit your local asylum and find an expert on creatures that most people think are nonexistent but actually exist in the reality of comic fanfictions by Vanessa Osbourne.)

"Alright Margaret," Erik started, quite irritated from the fiasco (I LAV THAT WORD!). "I now believe your irrational story. Now tell me, why, out of the many places you could have went to, did you choose to come _here _and pester _me_?"

"Because, mama told me to! See!" she said, handing him a note.

_Oh lord, __Antoinette__, _Erik thought, taking the note.

_ My Dearest Erik,_

_ My daughter's room has been infested with man-eating butterflies._ _I don't want her playing in the streets where primitive vehicles potential abductions from future weather forecasters shall be present. I wish her to stay with you, at least until the exterminators are finished fumigating her room. I dearly appreciate your help and my daughter's safety from Martian-weatherman hybrids that wear odd suits and abduct people from our time._

_ With love,_

_ Antionette Giry_

Erik shook his head. Mme. Giry seemed off her rocker just by one glance at one of her notes, and she sorta was. The only problem was that most of the time, the stuff she said actually happened. It just didn't seem right.

Before Erik could ponder more on the idea, a loud, horrible sound was heard. This happened a lot in the Opera Populaire, but the strange thing was, it _wasn't _Carlotta's singing. It was the sound of many contrasting keys being pressed roughly on an organ.

Erik looked up from the note, and saw that Meg was gone. He rushed to his organ, only to find the young ballerina sitting on his stool, playing his organ horribly (MAKE IT STOP! END THE PAIN! NOW!). Meg soon turned around and smiled at Erik.

"This thing is so cool! It's so loud!" she exclaimed excitedly.

"Get away from that NOW!" Erik bellowed, glaring madly at Meg.

"Okay!" Meg said while getting off the stool, saying it quite pleasantly and cheerfully, almost in a way that implied that she doesn't get how enraged Erik was.

Erik sat down on the stool, doing nothing for some time while Meg stood and watched him. After awhile, Erik turned to Meg, still looking quite provoked.

"Alright, since I am _forced _to keep you down here, you shall follow my rules _exactly_. Don't touch the organ, the candles, the boat, the paper, the water, the figurines, the Christine mannequin, the monkey music box, my mask, my music; you know what, just don't touch _anything_, alright? So go get your stuff and just sit _quietly _on the swan bed." Erik ordered irkedly. Wait, is that even a word? Irkedly? Well, according to Tim, my unpaid spell check intern, it's not. Oh well, I'm leaving it as irkedly, and anyone who has a problem about it should hide for dear life, for some day, when walruses have universal domination, irkedly shall appear in the dictionary, and there will be a law saying you MUST use it. ONE DAY IT WILL HAPPEN!

"Okay Erik, whatever you say!" Meg said happily and respectfully. "Um, just one thing-"

"What, may I ask, are you asking of me?" Erik interrupted sternly.

"How am I going to get my stuff out of the boat if I can't touch anything?"

Though Meg didn't mean to make Erik look like an idiot or anything, Erik wasn't one who liked being proven wrong. In fact, it was like one of the top things on his _Loathsome__ Situations _list. Yes, he has a _Loathsome__ Situations _list. Why wouldn't he?

Back to the story; Erik glared at Meg, who stood innocently in front of him. He picked her up, slung her across his back, walked to the swan bed, and dropped her onto it. Luckily for her, it was a soft landing. He then left the area, and after a few minutes, came back with all of Meg's belongings, dropping them right next to her. He then stalked away to the organ.

"Thanks Erik!" Meg said merrily, though Erik did not respond.

Meg opened up her blue backpack and began to dig through it. She paused, grinned, and pulled out A FIFTY DOLLAR BILL...GOTCHA! She actually pulled out a (poorly made) hand-crafted reed flute that was made out of tree bark and dandelion stalks, supported by grape jam. It was sloppily painted with a bluish-peach color, and it said:

_Readefloot_

_Maide Bai Gilze Andraey_

"This was such a nice gift," Meg said, hugging the flute fondly. She put the instrument to her lips and began to play.

Now, as you can imagine, since those two hair-brained managers know nothing of music and crafting instruments, and because of the description of the flute above, you probably know that the sound was awful. Hey, at least it wasn't Carlotta.

Erik was startled by the noise. He turned around, trying to find where the sound was coming from. He got up and followed the noise, which led him to Meg, who, upon seeing Erik, stopped playing and smiled.

"Hiya Erik! Wanna play with me? We would make a great duet!"

"Put that thing away."

"Okay! Whatever you say Erik!"

And, with that, Erik once again stomped off to go compose, while Meg cheerily put away her flute and rummaged through her bag for another thing to do. She pulled out a small, neon green bottle with a label and white cap. On the front label, it read:

_Jumpy's Bubble Soap_

On the back, it read:

_ Hey kids! Dazzle your friends, stun your enemies, annoy your babysitter who unwillingly watches over you because of a pest problem! How you ask? Think you smelly bunch of idiots! You do it with Jumpy's Bubble Soap! Blow a bubble! Blow a BUNCH OF BUBBLES! BUY THIS SOAP! DO IT! DO IT! IT IS NOT ILLEGAL THAT THIS COMPANY USES SUBLIMINAL MESSAGES! ALL BIG-SHOT COMPANIES DO! **DO IT**! _

Meg opened the bottle, which contained a bubble-wand and some bubble soap. She dipped the wand into the soap, took it out, and blew. Instantly, many, many, many, MANY, **MANY, **_**MANY**_, _**MANY **_bubbles came out of the wand, lingering around Meg and the swan bed. Meg repeated the act, and exactly (AND I MEAN EXACTLY) the same amount of bubbles came out of her wand. Her room became a bubbly, soapy place.

Meg's watch she was totally wearing even from the start of the story suddenly beeped.

"Oh, it must be 2:00." she stated to herself softly.

As you know, this meant-oh, wait, I didn't tell you, so you _don't _know. Man, you people need to stop being so dependent on the author to tell you these things. Oh well, you're my lovable set of readers. I'll tell you anyway.

Well, ever since the whole chandelier crashy fiery burn-burn incident, two things happened. One, the chandelier was hotwired to use electricity every Tuesday. Two, there were air-conditioners installed in EVERY AREA OF THE OPERA by men in red jumpsuits (I don't know why! STOP ASKING AND READ ON), and they turn on at PRECISELY 2:00. If even _one _was delayed and turned on at say, 2:01, an indescribably indescribable insane and powerful nuclear bomb would be set off, rendering everything in the world false. And, if you know your physics, philosophy, and chemistry, you'd know that the mixture of every known element and two unidentified elements would make the subatomic and atomic particles of the earth spontaneously combust, making the world as we know it yield an unknown, toxic, deadly, flammable, hot, cold, thick, thin, contradictory, hard to write chemical, that would wipe out all existence as we know it. In to put it in a sophisticated way: Earth would go kablooey.

But, luckily, the air vents turned on. Now, if the huge paragraph above made you forget about the unbelievably large bubble mass that was floating around Meg, well, there was an unbelievably large bubble mass that was floating around Meg. Now, as any bloke who's ever blown a bubble knows, bubbles move if there's wind/force/air/? that can push it. And so, when the air conditioner in the swan bed room/place/? turned on, it was only in the bubbles' nature to leave the room/place/? and go with the flow towards the one thing that definitely wouldn't have accepted their presence without a good rant and punjabbing a nearby coat rack: Erik.

Erik was quietly writing, when, all of the sudden, it got dark. And I don't mean plain ol' dark. In fact, this was a new type of dark, even for Erik. It was a paranormal darkness only present in really random stories.

Erik looked up from his work to see the giant bubble-mass swarming all around him, enclosing him in a kind of bubble-cocoon thing. And, as all phans know, phantoms don't really take a swarm of bubbles very lightly.

"WHAT THE HECK ARE THESE THINGS?" Erik screamed, feeling quite claustrophobic.

"They're bubbles! And they're fun to pop!" Meg replied warmly.

"Get. These. Things. AWAY!" Erik commanded, sounding both angry and scared, but before Meg could do anything, the bubbles pushed together to create one giant bubble. And, if that wasn't enough to scientifically and logically break the laws of physics and humanity, Erik was trapped inside the bubble. The bubble started to float away, soon being over the lake. Erik was fuming.

"MARGARET! GET ME OUT OF HERE _**NOW**_!" He hollered at the top of his lungs.

"Can I join you?" Meg asked hopefully.

"NO! GET ME OUT!" He yelled, getting angrier and angrier. He beat his fist on the bottom of the bubble, which was the worst thing to do while in a bubble. As soon as Erik did the action mentioned above, the bubble burst, sending him a-falling into the lake.

"Yay! CANNONBALL!" Meg exclaimed, jumping in after Erik, who had just made it to the surface of the water. He was breathing heavily, glaring at Meg.

"GET BACK TO THE SWAN BED NOW! AND DON'T DO ANY MORE STUPID THINGS LIKE YOU JUST DID!" Erik ordered loudly. He trudged back to the organ, pretty ticked off that he was soaking wet. I guess phantoms don't like that, which is weird, because in the movie, he didn't give a crap when he was walking through the lake. But, then again, he had Raoul in a punjab lasso, so his mind was probably focused on killing the fop that had stolen his love. Anyway, back to the story.

Meg got herself out of the lake and headed for the swan boat. She took the bottle of bubbles and placed it back in her backpack. Meg was about to zip it back up when, all of the sudden, something fell out. She picked it up, revealing the object to be none other than the jar that contained Petey. Nothing too bad, right? Wrong. It was also an OPEN and EMPTY jar.

Before Meg's mind could process what had happened to her new and beloved pet, there was a loud yelp from the organ. She ran to see what was the matter.

It appeared Petey had escaped his um, "nap time room" and was now being warded off by Erik with a candlestick. SO WAIT! IT WAS _ERIK_ WITH THE _CANDLESTICK_ IN THE _CELLARS_! I WIN! YAY! Oh, wait, I have a story to tell. Right, so, Erik was basically fighting a small, people-eating creature that probably wasn't from this planet, or even universe, for that matter. Yeah, good luck with that.

"Oh look Erik! Petey's come back to play with you!"

"I WANT THIS VERMON AWAY FROM ME!" Erik screamed madly.

"But he wants a friend to play wi-"

"DO IT BEFORE HE KILLS ME!"

Meg sighed, grabbed the jar, and captured Petey, tightly locking the jar's lid. Erik put the candlestick down, panting.

"Alright. No more playing Petey," Meg said to Petey, who was ferociously beating against the jar, trying to fly at Erik.

"I swear, if that thing EVER comes at me again while I'm on the perimeters of this Godforsaken opera house, I'll poke its eyes out, cut its feet off, rip out his fangs, use them to tear off one of its wings, and force it to live the remainders of its short life in a tin can living with Carlotta and her so-called singing!" Erik declared. He then realized that Meg hadn't heard one word of his speech, for she had gone back to the swan bed.

Soon after, Erik went back to composing his opera thingy. By now, he had finished it. He even came up with a name for it: _Love Never Dies_. Yeah, sound familiar? He'd written it down, and was about to start playing the overture, when suddenly he heard a familiar cheery voice:

"That title's already been taken Erik!"

Erik turned around, and saw Meg standing over him. She was now wearing a baseball cap that said "Save the Ipod; It's a Creature Too". He gave her his special "Phantomly Death Glare of Doom" that he usually only gave Raoul when he was being foppish or an idiot, which basically meant whenever Raoul was being himself.

"What in God's name are you talking about?" he said in a deathly tone. "I came up with this title myself. No one else has used it."

"Yes they have, mother showed me!" Meg replied warmly. "In the future, a man, I think his name was Lloyd or something, finds my diary that I use to write stories about my life under the pen name Gaston Leroux. The man makes a musical about our mishap that happened 6 months ago! And it's so popular that a sequel, called _Love Never Dies_, spawns! Well, two sequels are made, and I like the book version, _Phantom of Manhattan_. At least I don't shoot Christine, which I would _never ever ever _do in ten quazillion years!"

Erik stared at her as if she'd just buttered up a jackrabbit from Timbuktu that got frostbite from a monkey-flavored sumo wrestler. That is to say, as if she were insane. And not just plain ol' insane. More like super-ultra totally wacked out maximum capacity insane.

"...I'm not even going to ask. Just go back to the swan bed. Now."

"But I was only trying to-"

"Go to the swan bed _now _Margaret!"

"Erik, I'm trying to help you avoid-"

"Avoid _WHAT _Margaret? I've already failed in avoiding most of the things I've _wanted _to, including man eating vermon, more ridiculousness from your mother, another one of these awful stories created about our so called _misadventures_, and worst of all, HAVING TO BABYSIT!"

"Um, Erik. There are some people who uh, want to see you," Meg stated uneasily, gesturing to some men in black suits. Now, I know what you're thinking, but these men WE'REN'T:

a) The Men in Black

b) Premotional cardboard cutouts for The Men in Black

c)Stuffed Animals/People of The Men in Black

d) Spacemen (especially not from The Men in Black)

e) Shoelace Salesmen

f) Teletubbies

g) Ordinary human beings

They were worse than all of these things combined and put into a tuna casserole. They were...LAWYERS! One of them walked up to Erik.

"Excuse me sir, but we're going to have to confiscate your work," said one of the vile creatures.

"You're under arrest for plagiarism. The police will be here shortly," said another in the same tone of voice. In fact, he used the _exact same voice_ as the other.

Erik grabbed his work, glared at the lawyers, and backed away.

"Erik, uh, you should probably do what they sa-"

"Margaret, just shut up and get into the gondala."

"O-okay."

Meg grabbed her things and ran to the boat. Erik did the same, taking his opera and an extra punjab lasso with him. He grabbed his pole-rowing thingy and began to row the boat. The lawyers were persitent though. One belly-flopped into the lake, staying in the belly-down position while the other two jumped on and stood on him. One pulled the floating lawyer's left leg up, and the engine for a motor-boat was heard. Soon, the floating lawyer began to speed towards Erik and Meg in a speedboat-like fashion.

"Erik, they're GAINING ON US!" Meg screamed nervously.

"Just keep your mouth shut and help me row!" Erik said while pulling out another stick thingy from the secret compartment of his seats. He gave Meg the stick, and she followed his instructions. The gondola gradually began to speed up. Wait, _gradually _began to _speed _up. OXYMORON PARTY! YAY! Oh, yeah, the story. Right...

Anyway, the lawyer dudes and the gondola were soon neck and neck, head and head, eyeball and eyeball, forehead zit hidden by makeup and forehaead zit hidden by makeup. Dang, they're close.

"Surrender now, Erik Frauzer, OR ELSE!" one of the lawyers riding on the floating lawyer said.

"You never told me your last name was Frauzer! That's such a cute last name!" Meg commented sweetly. Erik merely glared at her, then faced the lawyers.

"You shall NEVER destroy my work!" Erik declared. He scanned the boat for a projectile to throw at the lawyers, but couldn't find anything. Then, it hit him.

_The creature..._

"Margaret," Erik began, "get your, uh, _pet _out of your backpack."

"Umm, okay," Meg said, grabbing Petey's jar. "Now what should I do?"

"Open it and make him attack the lawyers!"

"But he'll just go after you again!"

"THEN TELL HIM TO GO AFTER THE LAWYERS!"

"Alright."

"SICK 'EM PETEY!" Meg yelled as she opened the jar, and Petey flew out. He attacked the lawyers without hesitation, leaving a fine cloud of dust, smoke, and other things that would make the scene easy to draw if this were a picture-book.

The duo made it to the shore of the lair, just a few meters away from Christine's dressing room. Meg jumped up and down jubilantly and cheered, while Erik merely smirked in triumph, carrying with him his new opera.

This celebration was short lived, however, for the lawyers still made it to the shore, though their clothes were tattered and their hair was ruffled. The two lawyers atop the floating lawyer got off, and the floating lawyer got out of the water. One of the lawyers that was standing on the former-floating lawyer was holding a limp, dying Petey. Meg sadly mouthed "Petey, no!" when she saw the man-eating butterfly.

"ENOUGH!" cried one of them. "YOU ARE GOING TO GIVE US THE SCORE OR ELSE YOU SHALL _BOTH _BE SENTANCED TO LIFE IN PRISON!"

Erik and Meg were both scared out of their minds. They were just about to run, when suddenly, Joseph Buquet's ghost appeared.

"Ello, ol' mate," the spirit said to Erik, who was currently freaked out not only by the lawyers, but the sudden appearance of one of the minor characters that he hadn't seen since the slingshot incident.

Buquet turned to see the lawyers, who were still enraged.

"What are you monkey-suited people doing here, eh? Got lost on the way to the little men's room?" Buquet mused.

"We're here to arrest him," said the former-floating lawyer sternly while pointing at Erik, "for using a title already used by Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber."

"And what might that title be mate?"

"_Love Never Dies._"

"Well," Buquet began, "has it ever occured to you that Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber supposedly commited plagiarism himself?"

"Our client has never plagiarised anything or anyone," said the lawyer professionally, though, strangely enough, he twitched a few times in an odd fashion. Not like a seizure or anything, but in a robotic way.

"Well, what about when making the song "Phantom of the Opera"? Wasn't it said by one of the lead singers of Pink Floyd that he took the sound or something from some song called "Echoes"?"

"That's just-"

"And what about "Music of the Night" mate? Some phrase or something comes from Pucini's _Girl of the Golden West_?"

Soon, all three lawyers were twitching and skipping like a mix between a malfunctioning robot and a scratched record. They abruptly stopped, only to scream "ANCHOVIES!" and instantly self destruct.

As soon as that happened, Meg ran to the lawyer that held Petey, picked up the limp creature- the butterfly, not the lawyer-and held it in her hands. Tears began to stream down her face.

"Good riddance," Erik muttered.

"I can help," Buquet suddenly said. "I can bring him back to life."

As soon as Buquet said that, Meg's tears disappeared, either evaporating so quickly it defies yet another law of physics, or they just had the will and mind to disappear.

"REALLY?" she asked, grinning.

"Oh no," Erik groaned.

Buquet put his hands around the butterfly, and a pretty purple light surrounded it. It began to rise, still in a limp position. Suddenly, a golden flash occured in about a timeframe of 0.000000000001 seconds, and Petey was cured. He fluttered around like a normal, harmless butterfly for a few seconds, then saw Erik and attacked him once again.

"AGH! WHY MUST LIFE HATE ME SO!" Erik screamed, trying to shoo the insect away. Meg captured Petey and put him back in his jar, putting the cloth over it. She ran to the boat and stuffed it back into her backpack.

"Oh, and by the way young Giry," Buquet began, "the oddball crackpot that you call your mum sent me here to tell you that the exterminators are gone and that you can return to your room."

Meg grinned. "Thanks Joseph!" She threw on her backpack and ran up to Erik. She gave him a big bearhug, then skipped out of the lair to her room. Joseph Buquet floated behind, then stopped by Erik.

"Well, look on the bright side, at least you finished your opera, mate," Buquet told him.

"Well, yes. I can look at it that way," Erik sighed, feeling a blend of confusion, annoyance, and fatigue.

"Oh cheer up! I think you're just bummed because your new girlfriend left you for the outside world!" Buquet jested, smirking.

"I swear, Buquet, I'd kill you again if I had the supernatural powers, and if humanity would allow me to. Though, I wouldn't be surprised if it would, after the so called _events _of today," Erik growled, saying the last part to himself.

"Well, I best be off. Goodbye Plagiarist of the Opera!" And with that said, Buquet slowly vanished.

Erik shook his head in frustration, sighed, and walked back to his gondala. He was going to have to play a lot of jazz on the organ to settle his nerves.

**Disclaimer: *enters with food stains all over itself.***

**Erik: *enters with burnt pants and streamers all over his face and body.* **

**Me: *enters with a nest neatly placed on the top of my head. An egg is in the nest.* If you two ever pull off anything like that again, I'll make you go through the horror that the narrator from "The Pit and the Pendulum" had to go through. Then, after about a week, I'll make sure Azkaban has a spot for both of you.**

**Erik & Disclaimer: O_O WE'LL BE GOOD! **

**Me: Good. *to the wonderful readers.* Well, that's the story. And yes, the references to ALW's supposed uses of plagiarism actually have been recognized.**

**Disclaimer: Yeah. Check Wikipedia.**

**Me: Under "Phantom of the Opera (1986 musical)" there's an area titled "Plagiarism". **

**Erik: And don't you have something to say to the audience?**

**Me: Oh right! Sorry to anyone who reads this who:**

**a) Is a lawyer**

**b) Has a friend/relative/? who is a lawyer**

**c)Finds the lawyer jokes too corny or stupid.**

**Disclaimer: It was a simple set of jokes that contributed to the plot.**

**Me: And thanks to those who reviewed.**

**Erik: *reads belasgrl's review, then looks at his burnt pants.* Correction: They _were _on fire.**

**Me: So, remember kids: DORTRIYTWT (Decide on reviewing, then review if you truly want to) And flames welcome. They will be used to, uh, OH! They'll be used to destroy any more flesh-eating butterflies that appear anywhere else. BYE BYE!**

**Erik: Goodbye.**

**Disclaimer: BYES!**

**Joseph Buquet's Ghost: *was somehow here the whole time.* Later. vanishes slowly.**


End file.
